Trying to sing like Il Duce – that shit is hard. It's important to pause ad weird times like you're confused, and put accents on syllables where they don't belong. Frankly, I'd be down for some karaoke where we all sing top 40 hits Il Duce style.

Stop staring at my ass
It’s really quite crass
You should have a bit more class
And stop staring at my ass

Stop leering at my can, just cus I’m the world’s hottest man
You love the hair growing out of my mole, but kindly exercise some self control
Go out with you? You’re off your rocker. . . Looking all deformed like Cindy Crawford
Looking like an ad in a magazine, I’m here to crush your self-esteem

Stop staring at my ass…
You resemble a small-mouth bass
Your looks would be improved by a Don Rickles mask
You’re such a desperate, horny lass

Stop staring at my hips, in polyester double-knits
Go get some flab, go get some zits, lose your small tummy and your pouty lips
You’re so gross, so young and thin, you need to get a double chin
Get stretch marks and quit the gym, then you’ll be some classy trim

Stop staring at my ass
And ogling my moustache
I read an article by the Soviet news agency (Tass)
Saying you looked at Breshnev’s ass

Stop staring at my butt, I can see why you’re so hard up. You got big boobs, that’s a minus. (your only hope is a humming appliance)
Don’t you stare at my derriere, you like my dirty socks and greasy hair…
But I won’t give you the time of day. Make like The Humongous and “Just walk away!”

Stop your drooling, you sexist peeg, can’t you see I’m out of your league?
Your pleas for love are starting to bug me, it’s not my fault that you’re ugly , that you’re ugly, that YOU’RE UGLY!!!

Stop staring at my ass
You think I’m a swinger like Arthur Ashe
Wanna choke on my wiener like Mama Cass
You need to confess your impure thoughts at mass
If I was in “Complete Control” just like the Clash
I’d throw your fat ass in the trash
It’ll take more than a million in cash
For me to let you stare at my ass.

I am so sexy to you, with my paunch and my Velcro shoes.
You love my dandruff and flood pants, but you’ll never get a chance .
Why must you be so crude, can’t you see I’m a sensitive dude?
Although I wear tight pants and like to tease, but if I catch you looking at me, I’ll say. . . . .

Stop staring at my ass
Give a rest to the worms in your eyelash
I see the nature of your threat just like Ras Kass
You’re an uncouth chick who wants to harass and grasp
If you don’t stop, I’ll proceed to thrash
Cut up your ass with broken glass
You’ll be yelling “Medic!” just like MASH
My poetry is worse than Ogden Nash

NOTES: This is the most difficult song I ever recorded; it took about a month. Which is ironic because it only took 30 seconds to make it up!! This is because I compose percussively and I was improvising rhythms when I did it. . . . thinking of melodies and harmonies for the rhythms, and transcribing the improvising and learning it by heart . . . THAT took all the time.

The beginning was supposed to sound like life evolving out of primordial ooze. There's only 2 notes, which sort of push and pull against each other. They start out occurring at random times, and gradually evolve into a repeating pattern, (which is in 19/8??), which is then taken over by heavy guitars, and then it goes into Shoenberg 12-tone territory for the verse.

I actually went to Thee Nerd Shoppe and bought some 12-sided dice for the atonal parts, to make random notes. But what I found is, melodies that are REALLY random contain as many happy, major intervals as minor intervals, so they wind up sounding more upbeat than atonal stuff should sound. So I wound up writing a bunch of deliberately dissonant melodies, and then just cutting and pasting them into the atonal sections, a few notes at a time. You can hear the entire melody as a MIDI banjo on the fadeout at the end…. Oh, ‘terpsichorean’ refers to Ms. Terpsichore, the Greek muse of dancing. Even though she sounds like a secret ingredient of a leading brand of cleanser, she would inspire dancers, and so the phrase ‘terpsichorean splendor of ’ means, ‘well-busted moves of’.

Terpsichorean splendor of careening trilobites
Gallivanting careening and carrying on
Shaking their segments
Epic Paleozoic wingding
Manically twirling, dervishlike in aspect
Arthropodal groove
Dorsal surface is marked by three furrows
Which fails to impede the fun; (They don’t read the fashion rags)
They doing the exoskeletal boogaloo, arthropod turkey trot
But not the two step (20 step or 40 step!)
Terpsichorean trilobite parade

3) EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOOT BETRAYAL
Length: 5:06
Date composed: Feb 2001
Style: that particular sort of Punk Rock at which Nomeansno excels NOTES: the italicized lyrics are the voice of the Analyst, and all the verses not in italics are individual boyfriends, roommates, family members. Yes, this is set in Canada.

Tell me everything you know aboot betrayal
I tested negative, the check is in the mail
Tell me everything you know about betrayal
And then tell me why you failed

Tell me everything you learned aboot mistrust,
A mama with a bottle and a stepdad full of lust
Why are you looking at me with disgust, I just
Want to put your pain under a microscope,
Tell me how you gave up hope

Tell me everything you know aboot betrayal
The cops are on my tail, won’t you hold on to my yayo
I promise I’ll come and visit you in jail
And you can tell me how you failed

Tell me all aboot the treachery,
All the scars inside that no one ever gets to see
Spread them all out for me, so I can turn your privacy into my pornography
Tell me how you’re going to pay my fee!!

Your childhood sweetheart you haven’t seen in 10 years
Came to our house, calling your name through his tears
I could of paged you I could of phoned…..
But he looked so sad and all alone
(Especially when I told him you’d just died)
I felt guilty then, for what I’d told him….
I wanted to console him, I wanted to hold him
So I called him in from the rain and the pouring hail……
And we let you know about betrayal.

Tell me everything you know aboot betrayal
I promise I’ll stop stalking you if you only pay my bail
Sorry about your eyes; perhaps I’ll teach you Braille
If you’ll only tell me why you failed

Tell me how you got to be so frail. . . .
Tell me all the stories that make a grown man pale
Lie down on the couch and let me help you heal.. . .
I’m the only one who can make you well
Let me walk with you down your life’s twisted trail. . . .
Feeding like a vulture on the pain of your tales
Trust me to look behind your veil . . . .
Or I’ll rip it off with a hammer and a nail
You know I didn’t fail

4) TAKE MY BALLS
Length: 5:11
Date composed: Summer 2000
Style: straight up doo-woppin’
PARENTAL GUIDANCE: balls, sac, pimento, nuts, cojones, motley crue, eunuch NOTES: This was the first tune I wrote on a PC! So that's why it sounds a little plastic. I came up with the slogan “I’d rather be a eunuch than a man with somebody else” and the rest of the song pretty much wrote itself. . .

Now baby, it's been a week since you've been gone
And I’m not sure if you're ever coming home
But all I ask if you're going to be leaving me
All I ask is please, please, please… . . . . . . . .

Take my balls!
That way I won't miss you when you go.
I’ll never want you again
Won't care about your new man
Tie 'em to a doorknob and slam… thank you ma'am
Are you ever coming back?

Then please, take my sac
So you'll have something to remember me by
If you don't want to see me
Just keep a little memento
You can put them in your boyfriend's martini
And tell him they're olives, and he says, where’s the
pimento?

You took back your records and all of your CD's
If you're taking back what belongs to you please don't forget these
You can put them in an omelet or put them on your shelf
Cus baby I’d rather be a eunuch
Than a man with somebody else…

Please, take my nuts
Take a rusty tin can and slice
They only gave me bad advice
Now they must pay the price
They told me to
Go out with you
But if we're through
At least I can sing like Motley Crue
If you're really going away

Then I pray
Every day
You'll make like the SPCA and spay
I’ll never use 'em anyway
If you're not coming home

Then please. . . take my cojones
So they'll never be so lonely
You said we'd be together for better or for worse
I’ll still be with you in a Ziploc bag in your purse
If they can't come in you
At least they can go with you
If they can't come in you
At least let em go with you

5) SCROTUM SYMPHONY
Length: 0:20
Date composed: Fall 2000
Style: faux-Yingwe NOTES: this was composed for a compilation album of all 20-second songs that will be released sometime early 2012.

6) JENNY
Length: 3:12
Date composed: Winter 1999
Style: Victim’s Family-style syncho-punk
PARENTAL GUIDANCE: wuss, fuck, (jocko) homo, rice NOTES: This isn’t about anyone named Jenny, or even the infamous Spinning Jenny that played a pivotal role in instigating the Industrial Revolution in 19th century England. Jenny is slang for a White-woman, Asian-man couple. The much more popular, version (WM/AF) is called Jerry. I’m still taking suggestions for African-American-man, Asian woman couples, should one occur. Hong-Mai suggests ‘Jamal.’

Look around you what you see?
Dozen Jerries, one Jenny
Pacific rim conspiracy:
Everyone’s got one but me

Asian guys just sit and cuss
White girls think they are a wuss
Asian gals think they like to boss
White guys like them in a truss

John and Yoko every block
Every bogus round-eyed jock
Coming across the golden gate
Gets issued an Asian date

Look around, you’ll never see
Pamela Lee with Jet Li
Bushwick Bill with Nancy Kwan
What the fuck is going on?

Even though the rule was never stated
Everyone in S.F. totally obeyed it…
Why can’t I ever be exotic?
It’s making me fucking psychotic

So you want to know what is a Jerry
A certain kind of couple springing up in a hurry
White guys want a cherry blossom
Then they toss ‘em, ain’t that awesome?

The virus hit Amy Tan
Connie Chung, but not Joan Chen
Jerry is trendy, Jerry got plenty
But where is all the Jennies?

7) JESSE JACKSON WANTS HIS FOREHEAD BACK
Length: 3:20
Date composed: June 2001
Style: Champs-style facile ambient electronica with beat-boxing
PARENTAL GUIDANCE: beat-boxing NOTES: I wrote this entire song on the very last day of recording the whole album!! At first it was just going to be a transitional phrase between track 6 and 8, but then I got carried away .

Each time a man lies, he murders some part of Geraldo Rivera
These are the Navajo transvestites that men miscall their wives
Oh, cannot the kingdom of salvation kiss my ass??

9) BITCH, I STOLE YOUR MAN, HO!
Length: 4:13
Date composed: May 2001
Style: sellout R-and-B
PARENTAL GUIDANCE: bitch, shit, ass, cocaine, ho, Bisquick, necrophiliac, tits NOTES: This song came about when I had to work a real job and was relentlessly exposed to the radio. Not only did it (the radio) emit a series of R&B hits but oddly I got a little thrill out of it. I was astonished to find out that these million-selling albums sound incredibly cheap, like the music is all one guy and a cheap synth, and they spent their entire advance on, like, 200 compression pedals chained together. So I figured, ‘Hey, I’m one guy with a cheap synth. Why shouldn’t I make the million dollars?’ Picture me and several identical clones singing this in the schoolgirl outfits.

You’re history, a thing of the past. You and that guy were not meant to last
Go to Jenny Craig and lose some of that mass, cus he wants an ass
Without no cottage cheese… think you’ll win him back, oh please.
You’re history like Reagan’s brain, or Corey Feldman or Corey Haim
Your claim on that man was over quicker than Andropov’s reign
Cus I got him hooked like Flavor Flav and cocaine, ho. . . ..
It’s a shame, ho.

You’re history like cuneiform, while me and your man are up late stayin’ warm
Call the museum, they’re missing a relic, with a moustache bigger than Tom Selleck’s
Make like a flounder and fade into the background; you’re going to catch a smackdown if you don’t back down
You’re history like the late Neolithic. If you wanna fight we can mix it up like Bisquick
Even if you got a gat; even if you shot me in the back
My man would take one look at you and turn necrophiliac. . .
That’s a fact, ho.

It might make you mad and it might make you twitch,
when we come to your work and he’s feeling on my tits
and you’re like, “Can I take your order please?”
and he’s like, “I’ll just have these” (honk)

10) STOP/DON’T STOP
Length: 0:40
Date composed: summer 1999
Style: progressive grindcore NOTES: in the time it takes you to hear this song, University of Cal Berkeley will have produced yet another girl more pretty than anyone in my entire high school. Which is especially amazing considering that I was much more, uh, hormonally receptive to girls back then. This tune is a direct descendant of ‘impressionistic’ classical music of the 19th century… think ‘The Planets’ or ‘The Four Seasons.’ These were orchestral tunes designed to paint a picture with sound. The picture I’m trying to portray here, however, is the inside of my mind as I’m walking through Berkeley being completely overwhelmed by an endless stream of girls being, like, extruded every 40 seconds. (Actually according to my calculations, it’s more like 38 seconds but I needed the extra two seconds to ROCK OUT).

11) GET A BACKUP PLAN.
Length: 7:03
Date composed: summer 2000
Style: pop-punk Pacobel NOTES: I figured if I’m going to do something in a pop-punk vein, I might as well go back to the roots of it: Pacobel’s Canon. And so I just stole the melody. And the chords.

Usually if one is heart-broken, one can turn to the 1,000,000 "Baby Please Don't Go" songs to lessen one's pain. But what about the people that can't get a baby in the first place, let alone arrange to be dumped? To make matters even worse, we don't even have our own lexicon of sympathetic tunes! Eff that, I said, and tried to write a tune explaining how even pretty people could be made to feel ugly.

Who would you blame if the guy you were seeing,
You were planning, to be dumping, dumped you instead?
And the dudes, that used to flirt with you, all suddenly
Stopped?

Ask them why, there's no reply, they won't even meet your eye
No more calls, no more play, they cross the street to get away

How would you feel if a year without a date was
Just another year, how long would it take you to
Swallow your pride and ask out some ugly fat guys?

To your surprise, he says no, double chin wags to and fro,
You're denied, is he blind, you wonder if you lost your

Mind, lost your looks, check the mirror you look
Fine now you're shook, check again, ask your
Friends, they all grin and then they say….

They know lots of boys like you, but they don't know who off hand. . . .
Try back a little later
Right now they must see 3 different guys
When they can't decide between 'em
They'll ask you for sympathy….

Why would this happen to a nice girl like you?
Why, why, couldn't this happen to someone ugly, who'd deserve it?
Why, why? there's no reply, they won't even meet your eye,
Why couldn't this happen to a burn victim, who'd deserve it?

So you finally meet a dude, he seems to be hot for you, you try to
Say something smooth, but it comes out like,
"Please don't leave me, please, I need you so much,"
Now he bailed, and you failed, and you weep and then you wail,
You realize you've become like the guys that you despised,

How did it feel when they'd beg and kneel at your feet
Where are they now, married to some old cow
But somehow, they're happy and you're beat.
Take your dreams, and your pride, one by one set them aside
and you tear, out your hair, you'll never mar-ry that million-

Aire, with the yacht, is not an
Option, the rock star, won't come
Knocking, or the dentist, or the plumber, and you
wonder why?

Do you suspect a conspiracy? write a letter to the C.I.A.?
Or blame the fags for turning all the cute guys gay?
Or maybe it's a gypsy curse, it wouldn't be the first time
You set one of them on fire

Maybe later when you're dead, scientists will put your head
In a cyclotron and discover some new element that's repellin' all the men

What would you do, after that, if you saw Brad Pitt
Going down on a chick with no teeth or legs. . .
Would you push her chair down the stairs?

It's not fair, and you swear, and you stamp your little feet
She had to wear a Wonderbra, the dirty little cheat!

The years go crawling by, wrinkles form under your eyes
You forget what love was like and wonder if you should feel relieved
How long can you cope, and retain a single shred of hope?
How long will it take, for your facade to break,
And your confidence to leak right out like the ice cream you ate
In a fit of self pity now you can't fit in your mini
(but that's ok cus you'd only look desperate anyway)

Desperate anyway, desperate anyway…
You say it'll never happen to you
But if it does, whatcha going to do?
I want to know….

Would you be a hooker, would you be a nun?
Would you drink and drink until your pain gets all numb?
Or be one of those old ladies with 35 cats?
Or just give up, get smelly and fat?
Would you stalk a celebrity all across the nation?
Or move in upstairs from Good Vibrations?
Would you go into therapy and hope the doctor would seduce?
Or just give up and stick your neck right in a noose, what would you do when you’re sure…

That the one fundamental, most intimate, relationship two people can experience and always do experience sooner or later, will never happen to you……………….. any more

5 Comments so far

sephim September 29th, 2010
3:10 am

I can only guess you haven't made millions of dollars because your "wacky side projects" aren't subsidised by your Warner Bros signed straight rock band who you helped get rich off the back of a poorly sung surf punk/rap song…